


A Chance Encounter

by danceswithhamsters01



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, Gen, Grey Wardens, Mages (Dragon Age), Magic, One Shot, Ostagar (Dragon Age), What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Carver Hawke was part of the king's army at Ostagar. What if, by some quirk of fate, he met his distant cousin, the future Hero of Ferelden, while there? In other words, I wrote a self-indulgent piece where my Warden unknowingly met one of her relatives.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> The elder Hawke sibling referred to in this piece is NOT a mage.

Sevarra awoke a few minutes after sunrise. Between the chill in the air, the noise of the army’s camp, the snoring of the other recruits, and her nerves, she had not gotten much in the way of sleep. It had taken longer than she wished to get ready, mostly because she spent her time either adverting her eyes or waiting for the other recruits – both men – to leave so she could have a moment of privacy. The small area Duncan had set aside from the recruits only had one other female entering it with any regularity; the dwarven Grey Warden Delila, who had pointedly made the men make themselves scarce for a few minutes so the mage could feel safe enough to change clothing.

“Not used to roughing it, I’m guessing,” Delila smirked while eyeing up the yellow and green robes that had taken a bit of a beating while on the road.

“No. Nor am I used to… commingling with men-folk. At least where sleeping arrangements are concerned,” Sevarra added the last part hastily. “Dormitories were separated by gender back in the Circle,” she said while privately despairing about the state of her once-beautiful robe that’d been a gift several weeks prior.

A snort-laugh came in reply. “You’ll get used to it. Don’t be shy about telling the blighters to clear out if you need a moment. Boys can be a bit clueless and would miss hints sent their way even if they were made of stone and flying at their faces.”

The mage pursed her lips. _That sounded a bi_ _t_ _sexist,_ she thought to herself. Women and men both were expected to be first and foremost civil to their Circle-mates, no matter what disagreements went on between individuals. Part of that civility demanded that people be given some privacy when changing clothing or bathing, even if it was just the privacy of one person turning their back and pointedly not looking while the other did what they needed to do. _Then again, I’m not in the Circle anymore, am I?_ Not for the last time, she despaired over the lack of manners people raised outside of the Circle demonstrated.

After a breakfast of stew that tasted suspiciously like the one served the previous night, which she devoured with gusto, hoping that the warmth of the broth might find its way to her chilled bones, the mage looked around for something to do. Duncan was nowhere to be found, nor was Delila. Fighting off a sigh, she walked up to the other Grey Warden, Alistair.

“What’re we supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?”

“Duncan will let you know when he’s ready for you recruits to begin the next part. Right now, he’s meeting with the king and the teyrn of Gwaren. Just… don’t leave this general part of the camp, alright?” he replied and made a large circular gesture.

With a shrug, she pulled her cloak tightly around herself and went wandering off in the direction of what sounded like the Chant being sung. Taking a winding path that led her up a set of stone stairs, past some guards standing guard over circular cages tall enough to stuff a grown man into, she found the source of the singing. A Sister, judging from the lack of certain adornments on her red and white frock, was tending to a handful of men laying in or sitting on cots that held them a pair of hand-widths above the cold ground. The bloodied bandages some of the men wore gave away the purpose of the area: an infirmary. _This, at least, is familiar,_ she thought while cautiously approaching the Sister.

“Excuse me? Sister?”

The other woman rose from kneeling beside a rough-looking man who’d fallen asleep; one of his arms was in a sling while one foot was heavily wrapped up. There was a hint of silver coloring the hair at her temples while the rest of her mane, wrapped up in a winding braid at her nape, was dusty brown. Dull blue eyes widened once they caught her gaze. “Yes? What can I help you with… child?”

Suppressing the momentary urge to sneer and tell the woman to get over the superstitions about eye color and that not all silver or golden-eyed folk were mages (even if it was true in her particular case), she offered a smile. “I was about to ask you that, myself. It certainly looks like these men could use a bit of help.”

“Oh, I have a girl helping me already. Red-headed elven lass. She should be back with the herbs soon,” the Sister said. Her dull blue eyes were scanning her visitor cautiously.

Sevarra made of show of letting the silver ring on her right hand come into view. “I might be able to be more effective than herbs alone. I was trained by the healers in the Circle.”

The Sister bit her lip, weighing things. “That is a very kind offer, my child. But where is your minder?”

“Oh, I’m not here on behalf of the Circle. But I am Harrowed!” She added the latter half hurriedly. “I came here with the Grey Warden Commander. He has no need of me for the next few hours, and I hate standing around doing nothing, so…”

“So, you’re asking to help because… you’re bored?” the Sister asked.

“Well, I didn’t sit through years of study and training and being taught that magic is supposed to be used to help people only to sit around and do nothing with it when there are people in need nearby…”

A laugh finally pierced the priest’s wariness. “I suppose that much is true. Come, perhaps we can get some of these men back into fighting shape sooner.”

Time began passing at a much more acceptable rate between helping bones mend, closing wounds, helping the most heavily injured drift into the merciful and restorative arms of sleep with a quietly murmured spell, and conversing with the soldiers. At first, the novelty of being the first mage from a Circle that some of the soldiers ever met amused her. As time wore on, the amusement faded.

“You look like something out them stories my nan would tell me, about them wimmin that’d come out of the forests and steal babies from the villages,” one man babbled.

“Yes, well, I’m not a witch. I’m a _Harrowed mage._ I was trained in a Circle. Now hold still, we need to set your bone correctly or else even magic won’t help it heal rightly,” Sevarra said flatly.

After the bones were set and the spell was woven, she nodded in satisfaction after sensing that things were where they were supposed to be and busily repairing themselves. The addled soldier spoke again after moving his mended arm, which had been bent at an unnatural angle not even an hour before. “Not bad for someone with cursed blood.”

The Sister swooped in, sensing a ‘situation’ in the making. She nudged the man out of the cot and then herded him away. “Come now, Ser, I think it best you rejoined your unit. Our good mage is a very busy person with lots to do.”

Sevarra stood, arms folded and a scowl on her face as she watched the retreating form of the soldier. _Curse? Curse?! I’d show him a curse! ...if they didn’t hurt so bloody badly for me to cast._

“He’s an ass. Don’t let him get under your skin. He’s not worth it,” a young man’s voice said from behind her.

She spun around to search for the voice’s owner. A young man with a mop of wavy black hair, pale skin splattered with freckles, and pale blue eyes turned out to be the source. He wore a mix of leather and chain mail armor while a sword that was at least as long as she was tall laid on the floor next to the cot he sat on. His nose looked very much out of joint and quite bloodied. Along with it, he had a fattened lip that sported a cut down the center and a blackened eye.

“You look like you’ve had an eventful morning,” she said as she drew near.

“Well, I think I got out of it lucky. You just treated the other guy,” he smirked.

She paused. “You did that? To his arm? Sweet Maker, why?”

His smirk faded, replaced by a pensive look. “He called my sister that. She’s like you. Well, not a mage, but she’s pale and has oddly colored eyes. Kind of like yours, just a tiny bit darker. Couldn’t let it stand.”

She gently cupped his chin with one hand and made him look upward and then side to side as she assessed his injuries. Nothing was broken, aside from the nose, as best as she could tell. “It’s just a word. Shouldn’t let people use it to provoke you.”

He tried to snort but immediately regretted it with a wince. “That’s something my sister would say. Words have power, though. They shouldn’t be used to hurt innocent people. First, it’s one kid calling one of your loved ones a witch. And then you get liars accusing your si-- loved one of cursing their cattle to fall sick. Next thing you know, there’s a mob storming up the road to your house and you’ve got to leave home with only the things you can carry before they find you.”

“That sounds awfully specific. Hold still, this is going to hurt a bit.” She shifted the nose back into proper position with a grunt, which drew a yelp from her patient. “Sorry, have to make sure the bones are in the right spot before using any magic on them. Wouldn’t want it to heal crooked, would you?” She wove a spell, the energies urging the battered and broken bits to begin knitting themselves back together. “Better?”

He reached up and patted his face a moment before nodding in relief.

“Didn’t your family ever have a templar come by and explain to accusers that your sister wasn’t a mage? People tend to take what they have to say seriously. It just seems so wrong that a family gets chased away from their home over a lie,” she said.

The young man froze.

_Oh._

“Then again, liars would just find something else to lie about, wouldn’t they?” She offered with a smile while internally cursing herself. She looked around and found that the only other people in earshot of them were currently in a magically-induced sleep. “Look, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t go squealing to any templars, if… well, you know. I’m not with the Circle, not anymore.”

“That… would make you an apostate,” he said carefully.

“I’m an exception. I’m going to be a Grey Warden,” she said with a wink.

His eyebrows rose. “No fooling?”

“No fooling.”

He held out his hand. She looked at it for a moment before remembering that people often shook them when greeting or making introductions. She took it, her much smaller hand vanishing in the grip of his much larger one. He gave a firm shake. 

“Hawke. Carver Hawke,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Hawke Carver Hawke,” she said with a smirk. “I’m Sevarra.”


End file.
